


lightness

by hectorpriamides



Series: leu's corus fics [2]
Category: The Kane Chronicles
Genre: Anal Fingering, Deep Throating, First Times, Fluff, M/M, PWP, Praise Kink, Smut, Stream of Consciousness, blowjobs!, or attempted. it doesn’t go bad tho!, or attempted. we’re getting there.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-03-01 23:33:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13305684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hectorpriamides/pseuds/hectorpriamides
Summary: there’s nothing poetic about this — carter & horus have sex and a few other things.





	1. tuesdays? more like bjs

**Author's Note:**

> hi! this is my first time finishing & posting smut! whoopee?
> 
> title is from death cab for cutie. has no meaning on the plot, but it was on when i posted this.
> 
> stream of consciousness is the best way for me to write smut, i’ve found doing it anyway other way doesn’t work for me, so i’m sorry if that’s off putting.
> 
> carter is 18.

Horus isn’t expecting Carter on his lap as a wake up, but he’ll never complain. A beautiful sight, skin smooth and shown off. “What’s the occasion, little prince?” he asks, grinning at sleepy, whiny Carter Kane, heels of his hands in his eyes.

“You’re finally up,” he says. “Thought you were a light sleeper, but I fumble on your lap and you sleep right through it.” He sits up, stretching his arms over his head, shirt riding up, and Horus watches it all.

“I’m use to the weight. What’s up?” Slowly slides his hands around his waist, locking the tips of his fingers in the middle of his back. Terribly slim, and he needs to feed him more. Or train, the kid has muscle but he isn’t filling out.

Carter smiles back, strong fingers doodling nonsense over his chest. Soft and lovable in the early light. “Can I...” he looks away, rocking once on his lap, “I don’t know how to say this delicately – can I suck your dick?”

Horus stares at him, telling his heart to shut up and calm down. It’s just a question, and Carter probably won’t follow through with it. He’s not good at calm, though, and hates how high his voice gets when he stumbles out a, “Gods, yes.” Clamming up immediately, he finds false interest in the pillar in the corner of the room. “I mean, if you want to I’m certainly not going to say no.” Heavy petting gets tired after a while.

“Okay.” Carter’s heart is pounding too, rapid beneath his fingers. Shifting on his lap, he leans down, mouth against his. Bold for his kid, no teasing or asking for Horus to start it. For the most part he prefers being in the lead – Carter is his – but his kisses are so sweet and trying that he doesn’t fight it.

His lower lip is bitten, and well, he does gasp like a virgin. His kid’s tongue prods at his mouth, and that’s really quite enough. Five in the morning, and his princeling is riled up, seemingly forgetting who’s in charge.

Tighter around his waist, he sits up, making sure Carter doesn’t slouch. “Horus?” he asks, eyes lidded.

“Who’s in charge?”

“...you.” Even with this weird bedroom dynamic they have, he could never raise a hand to him. The bruises on his hips are enough for him. But he thinks about it, spanking him, Carter hidden in his shoulder — he couldn’t drag him over his lap with Carter face down, neither would like that — with gentle reprieves and correcting his behavior. “I’m sorry.”

Kiss to his shoulder. “Don’t do it again. You can start kisses all you want, but you don’t lead. That’s my job. Understand?”

He nods. “But I can lead the, uh, thing we talked about?”

“Until you tell me otherwise.” First times Carter leads, and usually the second, possibly the third, until he gets a good footing on what they’re doing, and gives control over midway through the fourth. “When are you doing it?” Woke him up to actually do it, or just ask? He hopes the former. Carter’s squirming and quiet disobedience has turned him on, plus the early hour.

“Later? I don’t know. Today. What do you want?”

“I’d like it now, but it’s really up to you.”

Carter glances down, perfect lip bitten. “Okay.” He kisses his forehead and slips down, perfect hand tugging at the elastic of his waistband. That was easy, he can’t believe how easy that was, is there a catch?, but he’s not going to question it, no, he’s going to sit here and let Carter be a sinful little mortal while Horus finishes in his mouth.

Really, the wrong train of thought. The only thing sinful about this act is Carter’s pouty cheeks that would have Horus hand over anything and everything.

Carter grumbles something beneath his breath, and Horus snorts. Adorable, and so is the accompanying glare. “I’ve never done this before,” Carter says, “don’t make fun of me before I even start.”

Painful to bend at this angle, but he manages to get a kiss to his crown. “Do you have any idea of what to do?”

“Vaguely?”

The kid is in charge tonight, and he sits back up, hiding his smile. “Well, you figure it out, little one.” He starts another sarcastic quip, but Carter’s hand grabs his cock, and fishes it out of his boxers, and he shuts up to avoid stuttering like an idiot. He thanks himself every time they do this that he can see in the dark, find the light where there is none, the perfect way Carter’s hand fits around him like it belongs there (honestly, it does). Thumb tip touching middle finger, grip firm and sure.

His brow furrows for a split second, Horus watches like the pervert he is, Carter sucking in his bottom lip. And he figures why the hell not, looks at the swell of his pert ass, because at least some part of his body is filled out. Edible ass on that wiry frame. Maybe that’s next on the list, claim another part of his body with his mouth, make this pretty little thing almost completely his.

Oh, that’s next weeks agenda. Bring him home early.  
And after that there’s only one ve–

Carter’s mouth.

His cock.

Right, snapping his eyes in time to catch the very attractive sight of his head pass Carter’s lips. His tongue has no idea what to do, darting around his mouth and the head of Horus’ cock like a cornered snake. Bad image, quickly walks out of that one. No more snakes.

His fluttering tongue calms quick enough, kid fidgeting on his knees and slides a bit more in, cheeks hollowed, surrounding a decent fourth of his cock in wet heat. “Good boy,” Horus praises; if he doesn’t know what he’s doing, the least he can do is offer some help, guide him through praise or some bullshit like that. And Carter likes being told he’s doing well at new things, puts a spark of confidence in his actions. “Can I play with your hair?” he asks, Carter hums in response, and he swallows his growl, ushering out another, “Good boy.”

Horus brushes his hand through his hair, part of his hair to the base of his neck. Once more, his kid hums, purrs, causes vibrations in his mouth, hazel eyes lidded but seeking his approval, searching his face. “Keep going,” Horus says, and breaks his own rule for a moment, lifting his hips to get more in his mouth. “You can’t purr all morning and hope that gets me off.”

His hand not wrapped around the base of his cock slaps his thigh, and Horus settles back down. “You’ve got the right idea, baby,” he reassures. “You know the drill: every tug of your hair is a good job.” He has to lead him more than Carter probably wants, after all first times are suppose to be Carter’s.

Carter removes his head, and his lips immediately quirk into a frown. “I don’t want to mess this up, birdie.” He’s the opposite of Horus – nicknames when he’s upset. Please don’t cry, he doesn’t even think he’d go soft.

“I’m a red blooded man, princeling. The only way you could fuck up is if you bit me.” Horus pets through his hair again. “You seem to underestimate how simply men are pleased, and I’m no exception. I have a pretty boy willing to have sex with me and be my consort. I could die like this.” It’s a terrible thought right now, but maybe a day for Hathor to talk to the boy would calm him, offer her own brand of guidance, with a foot between the two of them of course.

More staring. He’s good at that. He could have stared Apophis back to the Duat. The sun hasn’t even peaked over the horizon yet, and a minute slowly drags by, his stern gaze never wavering. He learned that from him, probably, picked it up from their brief stint as an Eye.

Tad unnerving. Bit hardening.

Both hands in his hair now, pulling his bangs back mostly, tangling his hair around his fingers. “Little one?” he asks. “Want to call it quits?” Please, no. He’d break his personal no masturbation record. But he doesn’t want to force his little prince into anything, has to be considerate to not harm the mortal in any capacity and get himself in trouble.

“I’m surprised biting of all things is your limit,” Carter jokes.

“I’m quite attached to my cock, prefer to not lose it,” he replies.

And Carter giggles, a perfect little noise. “I can tell,” he says, playful squeeze. “Will you take me out for breakfast?” Either at the palace or that tiny diner down the street.

He scratches his head. “Sure. Hungry, baby?” he grins, remembers Carter can’t see him that well, and he yanks gently on his hair.

Carter smiles too. “Shut up, you pervert.” He visibly relaxes, wiry frame sagging forward. How he’s so beautiful he doesn’t know, blame it on the hormones and the borderline teenaged body. Better than this, but not really. Horus watches, again, and his eyes drift towards the slight sway of his ass, again.

It’s a nice ass. It’s on his princeling. He’ll own it soon enough, sink deep into his ass and finally claim him; hea–oh his mouth again. That’s what they’re doing right now. The broad side of his tongue swipes at his head tentatively. He gives the appropriate praise, and Carter licks again, spit covered tongue curling around. He starts a little lower, and drags his tongue from about midpoint to his head again.

“Just like that, good boy.” Horus wraps a clump of hair around his pointer finger, scratching lovingly. “Good little boy, keep going.” Hopefully he catches on: three things have gotten his hair pulled, that should be more than enough. Some kisses, peppering his cock with them, really quite precious.

Carter wets his lips, sliding the first third of his length in his mouth. He swallows, soft, warm cheeks caving around his cock, and earns him a tug. Something in his eyes, which look quite nice from this angle, and Carter shifts closer, fist beneath his lips. Don’t question him, not yet.

And he lied to Carter. Biting his dick is his number one fear, but being vomited on would make him flaccid quick. Hopefully it would. That’s one fetish he has no interest in having.

“What are you–“ Horus’ cock pokes at the entrance to his throat, and when was the last time Carter ate? Seven? Nine hours ago. Stomach acid hurts. Please, by gods–and he’s in his throat now. It’s tight, Horus really starts to think about throwing up, the physical act of it, what happens? Throat contractions, lurching forward, gagging. Carter seems to be waiting for something too, paused like that, breathing through his nose.

Carter...doesn't throw up. His heart starts running. He. Didn’t-oh. Horus stares at him, gaping like a fish. Unexpected development. Carter attempts to smile, excitement brilliant in his eyes, making eye contact with him. “Oh, _good boy_ ,” he stutters. Buy him a pony or a car or–

He purrs, Horus’ fingers turn white from holding his hair. His throat is hot and tight, quivering around Horus’ very interested cock. The boy should let him think straight for a moment, but his inexperience is floundering. Not much is straight about this, except Horus’ racing thought of this is better than a woman. Or maybe that’s not straight. None of that matters, all he needs is his throat.

Carter shifts forward, another inch down his throat. _Control yourself, don’t fuck his throat, he’s a pretty virgin_. That seems to be the end, lifting his head up, cute cough, flexing his jaw. And he’s still staring, still petting. “Ow,” he says hoarsely, and surprisingly that’s the end of his grousing, kissing his shaft as if it’s medicated.

“Good boy, good boy,” he coos, “just like that. You like being my good boy, don’t you? You’ll be my favorite at this rate.” An angry glare, and a glower that says _I am your favorite_. His legs are falling asleep, Carter puts him back in his mouth, so things are fine.

A familiar coiling in his stomach. He is excited by this new information, that Carter has no gag reflex and given a few weeks could probably deep throat him. Hot, so hot, and now he’s faced with the decision of having Carter or training his throat. It isn’t even rhetorical, he genuinely can’t decide. “Can I cum in your mouth?” Just so he doesn’t startle him and get bitten. “Will you swallow, little one?” Thankfully he doesn’t have to explain that.

He hums his consent. Those kinds of repercussions don’t matter today, and their relationship is public knowledge, so so what?

It only takes one more swallow from Carter and he groans, because gods damn those cheeks are round and made for this, sucking him deep. He tightens his grip, holding Carter’s head still for a moment, his eyes fluttering shut, seemingly enjoying his cum pouring into his throat. Beautiful, if that’s the case, pretty erotic too.

He’d probably be aroused by Carter sneezing at this point.

And like the cute little thing he is, Carter swallows, lapping gently at the head of his cock. “You’re a surprising little one,” he mutters, and once he feels himself mostly soften he lets go of his hair. Carter removes himself with a loud pop, his face flushed, working his jaw again.

Horus retucks himself into his boxers, and easily collects Carter on his lap. Gentle kiss to his forehead – he wants a nap – chirping ever so quietly. “I’m your little one,” Carter chimes in. He twists, back cracking. “If you ever call me that outside of our bedrooms I will hit you.”

“I know you will.” He nuzzles against his cheek, and Carter whines again.

“I want my kiss,” he complains. Ask and he shall receive.

“Open your mouth,” Horus says first, gripping his chin and holding him a fair distance away. No chances, and he ignores how his stomach drops at Carter’s whine. He’s even easier on the kid when his dick is softening, and by god he will get his kiss, but there’s precautions.

“What? No.” He goes to get off his lap, and that isn’t happening either.

Horus head butts him gently. “I’m not kissing you if my cum is still in your mouth.” An owlish blink, head tilting in his grasp.

Carter says, “Oh,” and after a careful moments deliberation, gives an audible swallow. That’s. Hot. Thought he would wash his mouth out then come back. Swallowing his load twice in under two minutes is dream worthy. “Look, clean.” He does all of this with that adorable innocence.

And sure as death, his mouth is clean, cute and pink, a little swollen but yet still very kissable. “Good boy,” he says for the umpteenth time this morning, but Carter likes it, smiling. “Come on, get your kiss.” A lot of things are rewards for Carter — the kissing, the hair play, cooing — and maybe he can find another reward? The kid deserves something a bit more.

They kiss, and Horus rubs his back, slipping his hand beneath the band of his pants. He use to only wear his boxers to bed, until they got a bit more active. What a shame, really, has to wind his way through layers of clothes. “You’re happy?” he asks.

Horus hums. “Very, baby. You’re perfect. You should wake me up like this more often,” he says, because that would be nice. Hot little mouth, gag the whiny princeling. Probably won’t happen though, not for a while, till the kid is comfortable enough.

Carter says back, “I’ll think about it,” or not, he can answer like that. Horus tries to not widen his eyes, but it fails, Carter laughing. “What? I liked it.” He likes swallowing his–

“Oh, you’re hot,” he fumbles.


	2. get on that horse & try

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> things don’t always go smoothly the first time (&that’s really quite alright)

Carter, like always, is pretty. A tad sweaty, but his posture is good, and he looks every bit the confident leader he is around his students. Natural position of hand on sword, explaining the day with an easy smile.

He’s falling for the kid again.

Sadie Kane — sort of his sister, sort of an annoying friend — let him in, knocking stupidly on the door near Philip. She stares at him, sitting on the second floor of the Great Hall, statues of Ra decorating the walls and adorned with odd hoops. “I can’t tell if this is sweet or perverted,” she says.

“I was bored, if that helps your decision,” he says. Carter hasn’t noticed him yet. Good. Horus greedily takes in the roll of his shoulders, his quiet reserved laugh he uses in public.

She rolls her eyes. “Don’t be weird. I’m going back to Bast’s class.”

“Isn’t that just napping?”

“It’s a fan favorite.” She’s gone in a clack of boots.

None of the other mortals can see him, so when Carter turns around he seeks out his eyes. Carter’s smile is fond and Horus’ heart beats. The pants he’s wearing are baggy, linen does not look good on him, but his hips are noticeable yet, and so is his ass.

Ah, today’s focus.

Come here, Horus says.

He shakes his head briefly. After this class. Horus has some faith in Carter’s students to finish quickly. It’s the model of the class. So he has to wait here, be totally upset by the prospect of seeing Carter’s lithe frame in action.

Horus smiles. You’re a pretty little thing.

Will I ever be more than a pretty little adjective?

Carter’s turned around, focused again on his class. I don’t know. Probably not. They fit you so well.

Carter stops responding. He’s busy talking to one of the new students, some young girl, and he takes notice of the blush beneath her eyes. She’s either red from training or Carter. Both are great, he tells himself, shutting up the ugly jealous part of himself. Maybe if someone else starts complimenting him he’ll catch on that it’s not just Horus who finds him easy on the eyes.

Unless the girl takes it too far.

Then Carter’s being whisked away for a week.

But all of Brooklyn House knows Carter’s taken.

He smiles and watches him, playing with his own sword handle. Horus should get him a set of those beaded tassels to hang from his. Or his javelin, too, even if his throwing arm isn’t as steady as his sword hand. There’s time. He’s a near perfect little thing.

Twenty minutes. Carter’s students should be faster than that, as the haze of magic and smoke clears from the room. His eyes narrow. They’re in bad form today. It isn’t his main concern, but Carter’s frown is, aware of what’s wrong with his baby. He’s going to take it as a personal offense – it’s Carter’s lacking as a teacher causing them to fall behind (not that Horus believes that; the kid has a knack for teaching).

Carter dismisses the students, and he really hates the way Carter now fidgets with his sword, waiting till all are gone and his shoulders droop, making desperate eye contact with him. Horus widens his smile for him, and drops down to the floor. Not a far drop, barely feels the shock.

“Hello, dear.” Horus chucks him, kissing his forehead. “Perk up. How’s your day?” The eyes of Ra’s statues bore into him, and he’s reminded why he couldn’t get into that game Carter likes, being surrounded by the old hawk putting him on edge.

“It’s okay.” A slight shrug. “What’s the visit for?” he asks.

Horus pretends to be offended, clutching at his side and coughing. “I cannot visit my favorite during the day all because I feel like? You wound me.” Carter smiles a little, eyes sliding shut for a moment in exasperation. “Listen to me for a moment, alright? It’s personal, you may want to come closer.” His cute little brow furrows, and eighteen is far too young to have wrinkle lines. Horus gently taps the sight of offense, tacking on, “Bad boy.” He doesn’t say it often, and shame flashes over Carter’s face, eyes darting to the corner.

“Not outside of our bedrooms,” he reminds.

“Then you should be on your best behavior,” Horus says. “No dinner tonight. I’ll feed you later. Shower and be in your room by eight.” Alone, they’re alone, so he gives a quick squeeze to Carter’s ass, leaning close to his ear. “Especially this, understand? I know you’ll be a good little boy, so I’ll take you on a date tomorrow.”

Carter grabs his hand. He acts like he’s going to remove it, tightening around his wrist, but his hand just stays there and nothing changes. “What’re you planning?”

He smiles larger yet. “It’s a surprise, baby. Don’t worry your cute little head over it.”

——

Carter, still, is perfect, a little ball curled underneath some blankets. Showers make him sleepy, which is precious. The air is humid, his curls damp but dry, and Horus promptly tells every part I of his body reacting to him to shut up for once.

Setting down his bag by the foot of the mattress, he slowly creeps into bed, crawling up to beside his princeling. He stirs, wrapped in linen, pecking Horus’ cheek, hiding his phone beneath a pillow. “Hi,” Carter says.

Horus smiles, ruffling his hair. “Hello, dear. You showered like I asked. What are you?”

“A good boy,” Carter says excitedly. “Whats in the bag?” he asks. He might as well show him some of the contents, since he’s been so well behaved the past few weeks. Horus reaches back around, digging around the paper bag for a moment to rouse Carter’s excitement.

It has to work, feeling the notable shift in the mattress. “Hello, dear boy,” he laughs, Carter hooking his chin over his shoulder. He prepared for this, and stuffed the bag generously with tissue paper. Carter’s slim arms around his waist, pressing close to him.

An excited princeling is quite the sight. He lays his head against his neck, watching like a junior hawk. First, a small jar, courtesy of his wife and her bemused expression. “Oil,” he explains, and Carter nudges into him.

“For what?” he asks.

“You, baby. Here, sniff.” Unscrews it, the amber liquid slightly scented. Not perfumed, the wife promised, but a little treat for Horus. “It’s lube, little one.” He stares at the tassels while Carter sniffs. Now? Later? Both work equally well. He’ll win his affections either way.

Later.

Carter’s cute little nose does as asked. Carter’s cute little everything normally does asked when they’re like this. “It smells good,” he admits. This is claustrophobic, and Carter deserves even more praise for dealing with how clingy Horus can be. How lucky that Horus is the one in charge. He snaps the lid back on, tossing the jar towards the pillows, easily twisting and towering over Carter. His eyes are wide and bright. “What?” he laughs shortly, “Did I over step something?”

Horus slides his hands over his shoulders, pressing him into the sheets. “Rest of the presents are for later,” he says, nuzzling his neck. “Any idea what we’re doing tonight?”

“...me?”

“Partially. Just my fingers, I’m afraid. You’ll have to let me lead this.” Horus brushes curls off of his neck, another little kiss. “Maybe if you’re a good boy I’ll take you out tomorrow, buy you some clothes.” Horus already promised to take him out, sure, but he wants to say it again.

Carter — beautiful, pretty, his — wears his smile large. “You’re horrible,” he jokes. “Go ahead.”

Horus kisses his cheek. “Good boy,” he says. “You know this won't follow our normal patterns, yes? You’re mine tonight,” he says carefully. Carter nods, and Horus steers him onto his stomach. The kid never will admit to enjoying being manhandled, but his face lights up when he pins him, in the bedroom or actually wrestling.

He grabs for a pillow (Carter’s already taken the liberty of laying one beneath his head, scrunched up to his body with his arms), dragging his hips back and slotting it beneath his stomach. He can smell the soap on him, and his shirt is sticking to his body at the small of his back. He leans over him again, Carter’s amused hazel eyes catching his, at least he’s not afraid, rolling his hips – they pop – back to press against him. He stirs his arousal, because gods of course he does, and Horus decides the best train of action is roll back into him. “You’ll get that soon enough, little boy,” Horus promises, kissing the back of his neck.

Bashfully Carter shoves his face in the pillow, a muttered, “I don’t think I could handle it.” His absence of confidence doesn’t stop him from pressing back again, innocent in how his body moves, more as if he’s trying to throw him off. He lets up just in case, but the kid is relentless.

“You can, we’ll get there.” He massages his upper thigh. “Are you going to undress?” he asks. Bite along his back, the sensitive new skin, claim Carter in a small way.

“No.” For once Horus can believe it’s because he’s comfortable, not because he’s worrying about Horus seeing his body. He’s practically sinking into their mess of pillows and blankets, content and adorable. “I figured I didn’t have to.”

His rocking hasn’t stilled. “No, you don’t. Keep this up, little one, and your mouth is going to do more then whine.” Horus grabs his hip tightly, holding him against his swelling, clothed cock. A quiet drawn out moan from his boy, rattling Horus deep in his chest, staying with him as he sits up. He has his moments of sheer seduction, and purring at the prospect of sucking his cock is, well, hot.

He’s so easy.

Horus appreciates how easily linen slides off. But the drab white, nice as it may contrast on his skin, doesn’t fit him. Something kingly yet magician friendly, show off his form more but distract only Horus. Carter won’t wear leathers – despite Horus’ frustrations about Carter going into fights armor less – but he’d look good in them, if that one experience of Carter in his body is any reputable memory.

He slides his hands further, cupping the cusp of his cheeks. “Good. Boy,” he says. It’s dark as always, and he might as well pretend his vision is hampered by the lack of light to have a good excuse to feel him up liberally as he does. Carter huffs, slight arch of his back, shirt sliding up his torso to expose the curve of his hip, planes of back muscle. “Look at you, downright edible.” Drags his knuckles across his vertebrae, playful knock on the protruding one above his tailbone.

“Shut up,” he grumbles. Horus grins, bending at the hip and giving a teasing lick on his lower back and blowing a puff of air on his skin. “Complain about me being a tease.”

Horus chuckles, marveling for a moment at Carter’s smooth legs, he doesn’t buy his claims that he doesn’t shave and doesn’t get why the kid won’t fess up. “You are a tease, an unknowing one, but a tease.” He squeezes his thigh. “Those little smiles you give during the day? The way you crack your neck and run a hand through your hair in frustration? Sometimes I want to pin you down midday and have you.”

Carter chokes a breath, receptive to his words, he’s not putting magic in them is he?, a loud huff from his nose. “I want you too,” he admits. “But we’ll get there, right?” he says teasingly. They just started talking about that, and here he is, turning it up.

“A little tonight. By the end of the month.” Carter purrs. “You like that thought? You’ll be mine before Christmas, that I am telling you.” Telling, not promising, because at the rate they’re going and Carter’s opening up to him, he can have him by then, definitely.

Horus stretches out across his back, sinking his teeth into his skin predatorily. Carter yelps, bucking back against him surprisingly powerful, taking him off guard and almost losing his mount. “I still doubt I could handle you. You seem to underestimate how large you are.” He keeps stroking his ego. He’s plenty aware.

Detaching his mouth, he kisses at the bite marks, but makes sure to not heal them. Defeats the purpose. “You can. I’ll make sure of it.” Does that sound weird? He doesn’t know. There’s ways, and worse comes to worse he employs something in his wife’s arsenal. Surely magic can help.

Horus nuzzles the soft skin. Clean shaven and soft as a new born lamb. His. Carter grumbles something, whatever, and Horus is skilled at shutting the whiny brat up, punctuating each word with a heady rut against him. “Mine. You belong to who?”

Carter purrs. “You, Horus.” Which is what he really wanted to hear, but Carter has to carry on, a delicious, “Oh, I can’t wait for you to take me all night, so deep in me.” Horus almost chokes on air. “I’ll be yours even more.”

He sits up, back on his knees, Carter’s clothed legs between his, skin a little irritated from where he rubbed into him. Oops. He’ll be...less vigorous with clothes on in the future. And he tells his cock to calm down too, too juvenile being excited by some rubbing, but calm never works for Horus, not while Carter’s around, so he settles on adjusting the leather of his skirt.

“Horus?” he says, voice quivering.

“Give me the jar, baby.” Horus swallows, squirming on his own knees to adjust himself. Talented little mouth, both talking and using it. “Two fingers tonight. You going to watch, little one?” He can’t help but laugh as Carter twists around and tosses it, and seems to settle in the awkward positioning, lidded hazel eyes stuck on him.

Carter hums. “I like looking at you. You’re handsome.” Another pillow beneath those wonderful hips. Horus needs to sit up for a while. Young body but old mind – Sit up, stretch, go for a run – Shut up, look at your little boy, how could you leave him alone? He clacks his teeth, refusing to get in a fight with himself. Not here, at least.

The oil sticks to his fingers. It’s annoying. “Thanks,” Horus says, and presses the tip of his middle finger against his slicked hole. And he slides that in well enough, and that perfect little lip is bit. His lip to bite. “Move when you’re ready, dear.”

“Horus,” he breathes. “You said you were in charge.”

“Little boy. You know how to move your hips.” His free hand rests carefully on his lower back, possessively curling his fingers over his full hip. “Need I remind you of that dance you dragged me to?” he teases. That night was the night Horus felt the fire of desire coiling in his stomach, Carter grinding back against him steadily, rolling and punctuated hips, wiry and seventeen, growing out of his final puberty fat, finally, and Horus could see more than the fourteen year old he fruitlessly courted for a year. No, awkwardly cuddling a bone thin Carter Kane paled dangerously in comparison to the lithe creature hidden in a party of flashing lights.

Carter Kane had never struck him as a being capable of sexual desire, eyes far too soft and innocent, stammering with each kiss. Something awoke in Carter.

He’d loved him heart and soul for years, but that night got his head involved too, slim hips hiked on his, princeling pressed into the rough brick of the gymnasium wall, scratches on his back.

A gradual rock brings him back to the present, another fraction of his finger disappearing into his beautiful ass. “What about after the dance?” Carter asks. “Is that when little boy started? Or I guess me being your...boy?” Sounds weird without a descriptor attached, but still Carter gets up to the first knuckle.

Horus shakes his head. “Little boy started a few months ago. Prince first, then boy.” The word feels right. Reaffirms his position in Carter’s life. His little everything.

Forward. Back. Slowly fucking himself. Good little everything. “Really? That’s it? That doesn’t seem right.” Forward, back, curve of his spine predominant. “...should I call you anything?” he asks. And look at that! Carter goes to rock further back on his finger only to discover the final knuckle, and the way his mouth falls open is something of dreams. He shoves his head back around, burrowing under the pillow with a hint of embarrassment.

“Your god works just fine.” He carefully curls his finger inside of him. “I’d kiss you if I could, little boy. That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Early enough to still take their time and to get Carter his full eight hours, but there’s a plan, two fingers.

“Birdbrain.” More whining. But Horus made him that way, so he doesn’t complain back. Horus feels around blindly for a moment, flexing his finger in the tight heat, and judging by the buck of Carter’s hips and his muffled yelp, it has to be the right spot. He grabs his hip tightly, holding him still. Horus wants to make sure, of course, curling his finger deep. He cries.

The god smiles. “You’re alright, baby?” he asks. Regretfully he lets go of his hip, but Carter typically catches onto the pattern he nonverbally lays out. Reaching for the jar again, he manages to unscrew it one handed, dribbling some of the oil out, slicking his index finger. They’re going to need more, and he tacks it to his ever growing to-do list. “How’re you feeling?”

“I’m great, it’s...more comfortable than I thought it would be,” he says, “do that thing again.” He’s awfully cute, so Horus does, twisting inside of him. Good little boy doesn’t buck, hips almost perfectly still, but he’s loud and beautiful, Horus’ heart swelling again with undeniable affections. Carter’s upper body squirms a little, shoulder bent at an awkward angle. Wonder what he could be doing. Except it’s no wonder.

Horus carefully slides back out. “Want to try another one, little boy?” Carter nods, and he gently gets the top of his fingers through the tight ring and into the looser yet still snug heat, waiting for signs of discomfort from the kid. “Go at your own rate, baby. This might be a little harder. And no touching yourself, you naughty little thing. You’ll cum later.” The awkward bend of his shoulder straightens out. An appropriate hunch.

“Asshole.”

“Yes, I’m in it.”

Carter huffs and whines. “More oil,” and Horus complies, of course he does, generously pouring it out. He should have thought about the oil getting on the bed, the sheets will need to be changed and Carter needs dinner, but it’s too late to change anything now. He twists his wrist, and Carter mewls, driving back and gets halfway to the second knuckle.

He pets his lower back, licking his lips. “Good boy, almost there.” Lies, lies, but Carter makes a lot of beautiful sounds. “Once more, how’re you doing?” he asks.

“Full.” Carter does get to the second knuckle, tensing unbearably tight. “You’re going to absolutely–“ he cuts himself off, wide hazel eyes glancing between Horus’s crotch and hand, and Horus’ face turns hot. Those eyes are beautiful and scrutinizing, he feels like he’s on trial, and while not being shy by any stretch of the word, he feels guilty under that look. Carter has so much power over him. “You’re, like, three fingers. Two is too much.”

He smiles bashfully, hating this feeling. “That I am. You always get what you want, baby, and this will be no different.” His last words are concerning, and his worry for him powers through his own arousal. “Back to one?” he checks, and the nod is all the confirmation he needs, tacking on, “No apologizing.”

“I-I think I’m done,” he admits in his quiet apology voice.

“Then we’re done.” Horus is proud of himself for none of the anger or disappointment that doesn’t come. He removes and wipes his fingers down on the sheets, carefully draping himself over his back, snaking his hand around to Carter’s front. “Why don’t you get cleaned up while I go get you dinner? What do you want tonight?”

Carter jumps as he wraps his fingers around his swollen cock, quick flicks of his wrist drawing these adorable sounds from his mouth. “Wh-what about you?” he stutters.

Horus kisses his shoulder. The position hurts and strains his old body, but gods, skin on skin with Carter is how he wants to be. He’ll mull about positioning later, drowning the boy with kisses and sweet affections. “Don’t worry, little one, I’m fine.” He tells his cock to shut up and calm down again. Focus on Carter’s welfare, not his body stretched out before him. “You want lamb tonight?” A nod. He’s a fan of lamb and squash and corn, hint of spice and honey cakes for dessert. The kid is his, and he knows him well. “Then lamb it is, little love.”

He’s easy enough to finish, a few quick strokes, and how cutely Carter bites the pillow when he does, and the gradual roll of his hips into his hand. Horus nuzzles his neck, and can’t help himself, “You got yourself worked up, huh? My little boy, how precious you are.”

Carter has nothing smart to say, only a little purr. Tired boy, always ready for a post coital nap, lithe frame relaxed for the first time all night. Maybe in the future he should finish Carter first.

“I’ll be back, Carter. What’re you to do while I’m gone?” More kisses to his neck, digging his nose into the tangled mess of curls.

“Shower and fix sheets,” he correctly supplies. “Half hour?” he asks.

“Forty-five.” Rousing the kitchen staff to prepare only two servings of something at this hour, post dinner rush, will be pulling teeth, king or not.

It’s a long forty-five minutes, haggling the kitchen shabiti for twenty in every variation of Kemetic, until he gets frustrated and slams his fist into the wall, which spurs them into action. Of course. It takes them twenty minutes to cook, so he spends a terrible twenty minutes bored out of his mind, checking on his griffins, leaving his sword behind and switches it to a short sword — tomorrow is just a date, nothing bad should happen.

Carter is done when he comes back at the tail end of forty-five minutes, and look at that, the sheets are cleaned, comforter drawn over his lap, flipping through the television channels. “Where do you want to go tomorrow?” Horus asks, sitting the plates down on their bed stand. Carter leans forward and makes room for him to sit behind him, castled between his legs and using him as a makeshift pillow.

“We’re still going out?” He nestles up to him, remote forgotten, and Horus brings over the topmost plate of food. He didn’t plan on eating, both servings for Carter (hasn’t eaten since breakfast and he’s been busy all day), little prince shredding a tender piece of lamb with his fork.

Horus nods. “Yes. Why wouldn’t we?” Hands on his waist, completely innocent, where else would they go? The television is bright, the blue under glow harsh as the Duat.

He swallows. “Because I didn’t–you said if I was good we would go out.”

“And you were good.”

“You wanted two fingers. We didn’t get two fingers.”

“I want you comfortable, above all. I’m not upset, baby.” He rubs his side. Change the conversation, bring them to something else. Make the little prince happy. “Whatever you want tomorrow, along with a linen fitting.”

Carter is pouting, judging by his tone of voice. “Why fitting?” he asks.

Horus kisses his crown. “Pretty little king should have fitting linens.” Carter scoops a mix of squash and lamb into that cute mouth of his. “I get that you’re uncomfortable with sticking out from your students, but all I ask is you wear them around me.”

His prince slides against him, ducking his head. “Whatever. Fine. We’ll just...go out. See where the day takes us. Though I do want to stop at a pharmacy.”

“You’re not ill?”

He shakes his head. “Nope. I just – can you get some magical relaxer or something? I feel like shit for not getting where you hoped.”

He sighs, waiting for Carter to finish his bite. “It was your first time. I’m proud you got as much as you did.” Kisses to his head again, drumming his fingers against his ribs. “That’s why we’re taking our time, a full month and a half. I don’t want you intoxicated for our first time, but if it makes you feel better we can try some...” gods, what’s the English word?, “...aphrodisiacs.”

“I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“You’re not. By Christmas,” or his birthday or even New Years at the worse, “your pretty little body will be claimed.”


	3. if i could travel through the haze, conjure you up right here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> title from ollie mn’s “friendly dark”

Carter’s a little holiday drunk, mouth tasting like wine, but that’s Horus’s fault, for always letting him drink from his cup. He’s coherent, Horus makes sure of that, asking him the simple questions; who are you, what time is it, what holiday? ( _Carter stared at him, blinking, responding, “Carter Kane, eighteen, host of Horus and his mate and one day husband,” giggling when Horus groaned and squeezed his side.)_

( _Mate_.)

Carter’s a weird drunk, pouty and rambling, comfortable on his lap. Dinner is forgotten by the mortal, fidgeting fingers laying on Horus’s neck. Start giving the boy his own wine but heavily watered down. He listens, of course he does, smiling at him. Occasionally he slips in something spiteful that Horus has to kiss away, either words or a crease in his brow.

“Birdie,” he rolls off his tongue, “birdie, birdie, birdie, can I have another sip?”

“Baby, gods no. Here,” and magic is wonderful, a glass of ginger-ale summoned to his hand. “Drink. It’s your favorite.”

“So you.” Horus rolls his eyes, pressing the cup to his mouth. Those wonderful hazel amber golden beautiful whatever eyes smile at him over the rim of the cup, twinkling with a familiar mischief.

Carter pushes the cup away, after a hearty drink, pushing at Horus’s shoulder. An insistent force until he complies, legs naturally jointing to give Carter something to rest against. Floor cushions and the rug feel odd beneath his feet, the delicate peek of Carter’s skin through his opened collar teasing him, princeling shifting on his lap. Adorable, edible. “I want something,” he says.

“No more drink.”

He shakes his head. “Not that. I want to see something? Can I see something?”

“What, baby?” Carter bites his lip. Adorable. Edible. He sits up, working on his belt buckle. Horus watches, superb sober coordination lost in his fumbling fingers. It takes him a minute. “Baby.” He puts the authority in his voice that both makes Carter shudder and whine.

“I want to see something. Let me see something.” He does his pouting, staring Horus down, as if it affects him.

“What are you looking for?” He loves Carter Kane, fully, truly, but trusting him with wine was a mistake. “Answer me.” Naturally, he has to be in control, and refuses to relent, even against that wonderful pout burrowing in his neck. Horus can play this game, reaching around him unaffected for his cup of wine. He can barely grasp it, damn brat forcing him to lie down, but he refuses to acknowledge the issue stretched over his lap.

Carter fidgets, hips rising back, hand playing on his undone belt. “Birdie. Birdie. Hear me–hear me out.”

Horus snorts, rubbing his back. “As long as you tell me what you’re doing, you have free reign, little king. My body is yours.” His fingers tuck into his loose pants and pull at his boxers.

“I–I want to make sure you’ll fit. What if you don’t fit? I want my husband to take me, you know, need to be yours by now, but if you don’t fit-“ he rests his chin on his shoulder, peering at him with those pretty pools of amber. Horus heats up, stiffening in his pants. “I want you, silly bird. Silly husband.”

So–Carter is–he knows it’s the hormones, and a teenage boy is not prettier than the goddesses he’s bedded in the past, but Carter is too gorgeous for his own damn good. Nothing but lovely. “Careful with the husband comments, little darling,” little wife, he groans inwardly; start calling him feminine terms and he’ll end up sleeping alone. “You might rile me up.”

He laughs, hand beneath the elastic now. “I’d take care of you. It’s the least I can do for my husband.” Carter kisses his chin, and Horus can feel the smile growing against his skin. “It seems you’re already riled up.” The ground is always rough on Carter’s knees, shifting on his lap, knees digging into his hips.

“How could I not be? I’m going to make you look at yourself one day. You’re wonderful.” He kisses his hair and sighs. “Go ahead, baby. Make sure I fit, however that works.”

Carter sits up, smiling. “I think you’ll like it.” His hands drift from Horus’s pants to his own shirt, and the peek of skin becomes the full show. Horus swallows his growling; he’s acting like a teenager again, more hormones than common sense. Carter’s briefly in control. He folds his hands behind his head, watching, observing, the pretty boy confident for once. “I’m assuming I don’t get any help from you?” he asks with the faintest hint of amusement.

“Do I ever make you help? Or do you lie there like my little doll and get pampered?”

“But you manhandle me. I can’t manhandle you.” He likes doll, despite past experiences with that cretin of a ghost, judging by the flush that darkens on his face. Carter, he’s starting to think, simply likes being reminded of how much power Horus has over him, could dominate him so easily but doesn’t. Overpowers him on many occasions, yes, but Carter has as much input in this as he does.

Horus shrugs. “Figure it out, darling. Your god will do anything for you. You know that.” He playfully rolls his hips up, smiling at his wonderful everything. His heart hammers heavy just by looking at him. Oh, to be...middle-aged? and in love.

He huffs, the in and out of his bare, smooth stomach hypnotic. A good view. “I know. It’s sweet. I guess we own each other in our own ways.” Carter’s with him for more than the spoiling. The heavy handed cosseting didn’t happen until he was sixteen. Yet he’ll hear Carter’s reasoning, listen to his chatter.

“I don’t know, I think–” Carter momentarily gets up to shimmy out of his pants, distracting the god. Long legs. Smooth. Golden, godlike. The pants are slim in fitting, maroon, bought by the younger Kane. Too pretty for a mortal. "Explain.” How hungry he is.

“I like being taken care of by you, and you like whatever this is.” He gestures at his body. “I like us,” he says plainly.

“I love whatever you are. You’re mine. Keep talking like this and you’ll end up beneath me.” Carter whines, pouting, pulling at the god’s pants, fisting his cock out. “Good behavior keeps you on top. Insulting yourself–“

“–isn’t good behavior.” Carter kisses his jaw, straddling his lap. He fits perfectly on him, terribly in love, mind a thousand places and right here. Horus wants everything about Carter, his husband, host, prince, a never ending list of appellations. Swallow his name and make it his. “How did I ever let you make all these rules for me?”

Horus shrugs, bumping his cheek with his knuckles. “You want me to stop? I just want you to see yourself the way I do.” He will, anything for the darling, who currently strokes his cock, peering up at him.

“It’s fine, birdie.” Carter kisses his collarbone, nicking with his adorable mortal teeth, but this skin is mortal, and Carter can leave marks. How he wished Carter did this more, reciprocate with the marking, but it isn’t Carter’s thing. He’s more for asking for heated kisses in public (and when he’s particularly cute or naughty, wearing one of the god’s shirts he leaves behind). “But, my lovely husband, what if you don’t fit?” he asks again. “Can’t have me if you don’t fit, because you’re too soft with me to hurt me, but look.”

He glances up, swallowing at the sight. Knees are typically raised for Carter to rest against, and rest he does, adorable hand wrapped firmly around Horus’s cock, holding it flush against his bare stomach. The tip barely reaches the bottom of his ribs. Mortals are something else. Forcing the lump in his throat to go down, he fumbles over, “You seem very concerned about this. I’ll fit, baby. I promise, swear it on my name. You’re meant to be mine.” Carter snorts. His name is a hefty promise on some sex, but he was going to hand it over anyway.

His pout doesn’t change. "You don’t know that.”

“But I do.” He lays his hands on his waist, running his middle fingers over his spine. “Promise, baby. Trust me. Look at how easily I can hold you. Whatever force in Ma’at made you, made you for me.” Ma’at churns in him; hopefully the next time he sees the woman incarnate she can forgive him (or at least not mention it).

“You can hold me easily because you’re a possessive ass who made himself taller to do such.” Carter bites his lip. “I didn’t think what we’d do after getting this far,” he admits. “Can I finish dinner?”

“Take care of your husband,” Horus quickly adds, But if you want to eat first, that’s fine. He doesn’t want to order his beloved mortal around, only guide and tease.

“…I wanna eat,” he playfully whines. “But we should do something about this, shouldn’t we? My poor bird.” Carter leans down, sandwiching his cock between their stomachs, nipping his ear. "You wanna do that rutting thing?”

“So articulate, my little darling.” Horus drags his hands to settle firmly on Carter’s ass, pressing and rolling him forward. “Go ahead. If you’re good I’ll get you a honey bun.”

“But–“ he hears the pout forming, “–I want you to–“ he nuzzles into his neck, whining truthfully. “Birdie–“

Horus tuts, “Don’t you want a bun? Or do you want pampered?” Carter whimpers at the last one. “Oh, spoiled prince. You’ll get both.” He gingerly rolls them, Carter’s back softly hitting the floor, face still hidden in his neck. Figuring that: Carter’s hungry, tired, and cranky, he skips more teasing. He brings his hand between them, tugging Carter out of his underwear, who like the brat he is, is decidedly hard and heavy in his hand. “Oh, princeling, everything about you makes my heart hammer.” Horus presses their cocks together, and, well.

It doesn’t take long, for either of them. Horus is all kinds of pent-up (almost constantly, by the tricky creature known as mid-day Carter). Carter bites down on his shoulder as he finishes, heavy hazel catching him before closing, which is…rare, jaw cemented firmly on him. It’s kind of hot, if Horus is truthful with himself. Rarely does Carter bite, only nip. Ah, he must be a special kind of cranky then. Instinct, sheer habit, Horus growls out, “Mine,” to reaffirm what they both know. “You’re mine.”

A whimper, adorable hand balling up on his chest. _Mine_ , Carter echoes, sinking his teeth into him.

“Baby boy,” Horus hisses, “watch it. No blood.” Kissing his temple, another rock into his own hand, “Really, baby, you’re still too cute. Why don’t you help, hm? Just a little bit.”

There’s a brief pause. Carter stops biting his shoulder. “Fine.” Fond yet annoyed. “Lay down.”

“You’ve had too much to drink for that.”

“What, don’t trust me?” Carter doesn’t push it, callousing hand worming between them, stroking him softly. “Though you do hate vomit.”

Horus nips his ear. “It’s on the bottom of my list, yes.” Teasing isn’t Carter’s thing. He’s tried and tries, but he gets too flustered. He’s a quiet worker, burrowed close and bring Horus to a wonderful release. “Good boy,” the god praises, nuzzling behind his ear. The boy riles him up excessively.

The fucking kid cleans his hand though. He doesn’t wipe it off, or even shake it off. He brings his hand to his mouth, teasingly sucking one of his fingers. His adorable face sours; it almost makes Horus hard again.

Immortal teenager.

“Hey,” Carter mumbles, now using magic to clean hand and stomach, “I wanna go to bed.”

(and they do, of course they do; carter dresses as he does, pants and a shirt, and gratefully gives his okay for horus to sleep in just his boxers.)


End file.
